But You Did
by Jealousy'sOverrated
Summary: Naomi and Emily never reached amicable terms after the Sophia Incident. Naomi took a gap year, then went to Goldsmiths to study Journalism and Politics. Emily disappeared, seemingly without a trace. However, a chance meeting forces them together again.
1. Chapter 1

**But, you did. _Naomi and Emily never reached the amicable stage in their relationship after Sophia came and royally fucked everything up. They broke up after their results. Naomi took her gap year, then went to Goldsmiths to study Politics and Journalism. Emily disappeared, seemingly without a trace. _**

**Naomi's POV**

"FUCK!" Why doesn't anything go right for me? I try, God do I try, but it just ends up in a heap as usual. I stare down at the Fairy Liquid that's slowly coursing down my floral skirt. It doesn't really matter, but I'm so fucking angry with myself for being this ridiculous blonde disaster area. Every time. It never bloody fails. And just at that angry moment, cue Simon.

"Aw babe, what've you gone and done now? Such a stupid twat sometimes, aren't you buns?"

He gets my usual raised eyebrow for this remark and his annoying use of that vile pet name. 'Buns'! Who the fuck does he think he is. Idiot man. Things were so much easier when I played for the other team. Women just don't act like men, in that stupid apish 'ug' kind of arrogance. I've clearly been sat looking at him this way for longer than I intended to, because he's stood there searching my face for some kind of cognitive reaction.

"Buns? Buns babe... Where'd you go? Hello?", he's waving now.

" Yes? Can I help you with something?"

"Nah. Nothin' much, I was just wondering when we was gonna go see that flat wasn't I babe? You know, the one you got all excited about the other day? You know, down Covent Garden. Thought you said you was interested. But... I can see you're in one o' them frames o' mind today, so if you don't mind, I'll go myself and take photos for you, yeah babe?"

"Don't call me Buns" I sighed, anger tingeing my voice where I really didn't mean it to.

"Yeah... what?" a blank look crossed his face as he realised what I had actually said. "Buns? I was talking about that flat, babe. You know, the one- ... I thought you liked that name." He looked sad now, like he always did when I get stroppy (which doesn't happen _that_ often. Not really, anyway).

"Yeah, well. I don't. So stop calling me that. It's offensive." I'm muttering by this point, looking down at the stupid green stain on my skirt, feeling instantly angry as I remember why it got there in the first place. When I finally look up, I see Simon reaching up for his jacket off the hooks in the hallway, he turns to scowl at me once more before slamming the door behind him, shouting "Later, Germaine".

He's such a twat sometimes. No, wait, he's not. I am. I'm the one who's been fucking biting his head off for the past three months since we finished Uni. I grab the sad looking cloth and start my futile dabbing efforts to remove the greasy green from an old favourite from my college days, the days where things seemed simple in hindsight, even though they really weren't.

"Still fucking up 4 years down the line aren't you 'Buns'?" I growl to myself, increasing the vigour with which I am now scrubbing my skirt. Fucking thing. It's just frothing and foaming. I'm so angry all the time, Fairy Liquid shouldn't invoke this kind of reaction, although it technically symbolises over 50 years of women submitting to men before their porcelain punishments, so, I guess.

Shit, I forgot to call mum. She's probably still drugged up to her eyeballs since I last went over anyway. Fucking Irish bastard with his fucking potatoes. Fucked her up good this time. That's my job. I punch in the numbers after checking what they actually were in my phone.

"Hi, mum? It's me. Naomi." The reply comes in short breathless whispers of profanities, all related to my recent absence and her permanent confusion as to my current orientation.

"Still seeing straight then, you lovely tit, you?" she eventually manages to utter above a whisper to me. This phone call was going to be another one of _those._ I can tell. She thinks we're not close, but I get her, I understand her more than anyone else ever can. I thought Kieran came pretty close though. But he ran as fast as his Birkenstocks would carry him at the first sign of trouble back in my Bristol childhood home.

"Yep. Still straight, as I've been for over a year now mum, yeah? – What? No, no job yet. – No, my interview's tomorrow. – Yes I'm going to dress smartly. – No, not the fucking pig t-shirt, I don't even know where that is. Jesus Christ mum." She mutters back her half-hearted apologies and I instantly feel bad, I've always treated her like this, I hate myself for it. We carry on with the formalities for five more minutes until I decide it's finally okay for me to make my excuses and hang up the phone. So I go back to scrubbing my skirt which is wet through by now from where I left the cloth there while I was on the phone.

"Bollocks." I start up the stairs to the awful lilac bedroom to pick out my outfit for tomorrow's interview. Reaching up to the top shelf where I keep the rare items of smart clothes I actually possess, I drag down a basket to rustle through. As I pull it down, it drags with it a not so distant memory that always was the centre of conversation not least in my recent phone conversation. Kneeling down, I pick up the white cotton t-shirt, printed with my infamous pig, instantly flooded by the memories of a day by a lake with the girl who set the 'fuck up ball' in motion. Unconsciously, I smelled the shirt; not sure why I had done it, I stuffed it back into the wardrobe and shut the door tightly, leaning on it as if trying to keep further memories at bay.

I sigh, "What the fuck are you doing?" and decide to look for my suit another time.

* * *

**Okay, my first fic. I have an annoying habit of experimenting with tenses. If it's annoying in this chapter, let me know. Please review. Am I onto something here? I'm not so sure.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Naomi's POV**

I sat alone in the small, blue kitchen until... well just waiting for something to happen or for someone to call really. My depressed stupor was showing no signs of lifting and was probably worsened by the impending job interview tomorrow. I'm drinking chamomile tea, a remnant of many years under the influence of the quite legendary Gina Campbell, of whom everyone was extremely fond, except for me. I don't even like chamomile tea. Tastes like a haystack. Or at least how I would imagine a haystack might taste. But I guess, there are things in life we don't like very much, but put up with them out of habit.

I traced my finger of the tea stained cracks and chips that punctuated the rim of my mug: the mug I'd used for 6 years. When you're bored you think about all these stupid things, I think. I think you just get a bit self-important because you think nobody's around, so you can be as pretentious and fuckwitty as you like. So I sat there thinking about all the things my mug had witnessed and bollocks like that (obviously hating myself all the way through). Simon's bumbling entrance shook me from my philosophical coma, causing some of my tea to tip over the rim and onto my skirt. _Two stains. Thanks a bunch._

"Alright, babe? Flat was totally out of this world man. It was like, quite small and like really white and... but fuck me it was small. Like too small you know. Too white as well. Kind of not that nice actually. But yeah, no, it was good." Sometimes I loved how inarticulate Sim was... just not today. It was like total oxymoron overload in just a few breaths. I had no idea what his actual opinion was on the flat. None at all. All I got was small and white. So I carried on batting my skirt in a vain attempt to dry of the tea spillage, looked at him disinterestedly and simply said: "Great babe." He seemed pleased with that and hopped out the kitchen again. Totally oblivious. I didn't want a flat. Didn't really want him. Our relationship was like all the others I'd had. Like chamomile tea. Not too keen, but it's there, so yeah, why not.

All bar one... (No Naomi. Bad. Twice in a day, not good).

That night I went to bed early, avoiding the eventual evening proposition from Simon, using my excuse that I had an interview tomorrow. So I went to bed and lay there, listening to Sim's program mumbling away in the room below and Weird Beard nextdoor's bad drum n bass. Usual Monday night at the house of Campbell then. Soon, I felt sleep start to wash over me and take me to a place where Simon was who I really wanted him to be and Weird Beard's speakers were broken. And everything was red.

_The irritating pattern of my pace, one foot before the other, was more noticeable. The precision of the rhythm echoing from every hollow slap of rubber and stone engulfed my thoughts. I consciously made the effort to vary my pace: one, a pause of two, maybe three seconds, followed by a few quick, irregular strides. My thoughts had become suffocated once more._

_ Diverting my attention had always been a simple task, so I chose to focus on the uneven path before me. I questioned why the human race was forced to patrol a margin around the domain of the engine, compared the uniform surface of the road with the harsh, rutted nature of a pedestrian's path. Subsequently, never having reached any fair conclusion, I bridled my own path and altered my steps by a few degrees until those first dull thuds signified the abandonment of safety. Red. Like danger._

_ Thrill: this was the emotion that screamed in my veins. Taking the step onto this inert road had been simple, rebellion had become simple. Having engaged my emotions and feet, I found my hands to be restless. In placing my right hand around my left wrist, I uncovered cause for further thought. The tightly grasped wrist was alive under the pressure; I felt every ounce of myself journey to and from my fingertips, the strong swell of my pulse following the flood of emotion beforehand. Releasing the unyielding grip of my right hand revealed the sallow skin beneath with its strained purple contours and green streams. Their texture irresistible to the touch, I ran two fingers across the parallel lifelines. Stumble. Red. Like blood._

_ I hauled myself up from my dishevelled mound on this cruel road, wiping both palms on either trouser leg, gathered myself and began my search for the culprit. I had not to look far; my shoelaces had become undone. Crouching down, I considered tying them, until a compulsion so deeply set in not doing so directed the now tingling fingers to my other shoe, pulled the lace until those practicalities hung loose and set my hand at my side once more. I stayed low to the ground for a while longer, studying the shards of skin on my previously unscathed hands. Every touch of my fingers against the raw surface instigated an inferno in my nerves, just sharp enough to crease the skin on the outer corner of each eye. _

_ Noise. This is what it was. Not a sound or a din, clamour or even a blare. Noise. Simple. Despite my conscious efforts not to, I turned my head to confront the noise, finding another of my senses aggravated. The uncouth severity of these beams blinded my thoughts. Paralysed by confusion, I sat, listened and looked. I was disturbed by an angered person, flailing arms and shrieking words: angry words. Suddenly, I didn't understand, all clarity had been stunned by the brightness of the lights and the offensive sounds, so that a nebulous shroud befell the entire situation. Irate pressure under either arm woke me from my paralysis, whilst the burning of dragging heels woke my senses. Four growls saw my four wheeled intruder gone. _

_ I was left feeling alone, lost. This vast expanse of stone swallowed my puny body as I searched for myself desperately in the silence left in the wake of the turbulent previous five minutes. Mustering strength in my trembling limbs, I lifted my body from the safe harbour of cars I had been placed in, finding myself immersed in my confusion once more. Each step consumed my concentration, remaining upright was troublesome now for my wearied mind and body. Every additional yard brought me closer to fracture, as I walked against the authority of the winds sent to overwhelm us by the Sadist. _

_My vision was distracted by a flash of colour as a child's lost red balloon was swept away in my flurry. My feet came to stand at parallel as my neck allowed my eyes to roam the clouds in search of that bubble of hope. In seeking, I found. My spirit effervesced as images of innocence and infancy exploded in my memory. Senses long extinct were resurrected in my character as taste, vision, hearing, touch and smell were evoked by memories lost in adolescence of the simplicity of before. That step had signified an abandonment of identity, an identity parading as a formal safety precaution. Without realising, I had begun walking once more, effortlessly now. My thoughts subsided now, there was nothing left to think, only a destination. Images of my epiphany echoed in my mind as I listened for those thuds: one...two. I listened contentedly to the pulse of my lifting feet below me, effortlessly steering a path over this rugged terrain provided for the pedestrian and turned a corner._

Some fucking noise was just there, raping my ears. Just go away. "Bogging bog off!" damn... clock. Shit. Interview today. What the fuck was that dream about anyway? Clichéd mindfuck. Too early for metaphors.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Right, just so we're clear, I wanted to convey Simon as being a twat, Naomi's life as boring etc. (just in case you thought I was just a really boring person) Okay so this is Emily, but not the Emily Naomi knew before, this Emily is different, closed off almost. There's more messing with tenses here too (sorry) I think it's because I'm writing in monologue. Enjoy! (and review please) :) Oh, and don't get used to the frequent updates, this is only because I'm avoiding revision!

**I do not own Skins, I just worship the ground upon which it metaphorically walks**

**Emily's POV**

I can't describe why this day felt different to all the others. God knows, there have been many days, and most of them consisting mainly of the boring day to day details. Today was just different. Like it was pregnant. Something was going to rock my world to its very foundations. I need something like this to be honest, something to drag me from the gaping hole that is fast becoming my entire life. I should get up. But I never feel much like it any more, my flat's cold and dingy. So lonely. Since Katie moved back to Bristol to be with her surprisingly very nice boyfriend, everywhere seems so grim. I know that I'm not going to wake up to a bedraggled and severely hungover Katie on my fucking disgusting couch every other morning. I know I'm not going to hear her shouting at me for never having the teabags she likes. Too fucking bad I prefer Chamomile anyway; my tea. I'm still in bed at this point, in my sodding hole of a bedroom. Haven't looked at the clock yet, I always wake up so damned early anyway. Sun isn't quite up yet, so I'm guessing it's around seven. (one of my many games to keep me occupied in the lonely mornings – oh, the things that come from being alone)

I figured I should probably drag my arse out of my pit anyway. I had work that day. Like most days. Fills a gap, you know. But that's all. Growing up never was what I thought it would be. I expected to go to uni, find an amazing job... an amazing girl, and live happily ever after in eternal bliss. Except, I didn't go to uni, didn't find an amazing job... and was lost by my amazing girl. Eternal bliss seems a pretty dumb idea to me now. Emily Fitch has finally grasped the idea of realism and it's shit.

I decide a shower might be best advised. The water runs over my body, quelling the violent outbreak of goosebumps on my arms. The noise is good, like white noise, there's no more room to think, I just let it course through my ears and my thoughts as though it were part of me. I know, however, that my shelter will be short lived and as usual, the water cuts out just before I've rinsed the soap from my now tingling body after the intense heat of those few minutes. I grab my towel and leave the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, to dress for my awful day at work.

* * *

Autumn has started to bite at the leaves of the trees, leaving them dappled by an astounding shade of yellow, overpowered almost. Autumn, where the seasons brace themselves for the ultimate event. Even now, I'm convinced that my day holds more than meets the eye. The office comes into sight and I see Nat stood in our usual spot, having her 8.30 smoke.

"Hi. You're early. Only twenty past you know," I mock her with my best enthusiastic smirk.

"Cheeky bitch. Stressed, that's all, figured I'd squeeze two in this morning."

"Two? Wow, things are tough in there this morning then?" I'm still mocking her, but she doesn't see it, as usual. Nobody's sharp anymore.

"yeah, I mean, man, Nigel's all like 'Oh, you with the large breasts, go push more paper. Interviews today you know. Most important.' Fucking hate that man you know. They're not that fucking big anyway." She's pouting by now, looking down at her chest to survey any overnight growth.

"Who are you kidding, Nat? They're fucking gargantuan!" perhaps, now would be the time to stop with the mocking, she's still not getting it, and is actually looking a bit upset. Backtrack methinks. "But, I mean th-that's none of his business anyway. Fucking perv." Bingo! Correct reaction, she's smiling at me gratefully now. Maybe nothing was going to happen today after all, it was just going to be one of those awkward days where everything takes every ounce of effort to accomplish.

Nat stubs her cigarette out on the concrete planter and reaches into her pocket with a look of pure mischief inscribed on her facial features, "Cue number two. _This _is my 8.30 cigarette. The first was a practice run." She puts the white stick between her immaculately painted lips before doing the same for me, lifting the shittiest lighter ever up to both of them and lighting them after what felt like an age of flicking and cursing.

"Fuck me, this thing's a bastard to get lit" well done Nat, another of your pearls. Fuck that felt good, a welcome rush of nicotine flooded my senses. I held it in for a bit, savouring the tickling burn at the back of my throat and nostrils, before letting it go in a perfect ring. Feeling quite proud of myself, I turned to look at Nat as she was about to take another drag. She muttered in short, monosyllabic whispers "Tossing show off". I giggled through my next drag before settling down to savour my morning saviour with my full attention, until I had to trudge into work and get on with my world changing filing and form filling.

My little box is quite homely actually, if you consider plasterboard walls cosy and swivel chairs welcoming. In the early days, I'd tried to spruce the place up a bit. I dotted pictures here and there, not that there were many that could actually be put up, there was too much of her in some of them. So I had five photos up, one of me and JJ and a mysterious puddle of orange froth (God knows...), another of me and Katie that I still loved, we were planting kisses on our mirror and laughing. There were various others, featuring all my college friends and one of me and Nat, taken at 8.30 one morning, both fag in hand. After a while I gave up on the 'home comforts', plants I'd bought only died anyway and cushions got brazenly stolen by people in other cubicles. So, my box was mainly grey and boring, but it felt safe, never changed you know. I crave constants, always have... So my morning is spent in the usual way, signing forms and filing all the shit we don't need. Nat's singing though, which is entertaining at least, if not fucking dreadful. Nigel will no doubt see to that. Fuck me, that man's a pervert, stares down tops and up skirts and – ugh. Vile prick Nigel. Is it law that everyone has a pervy boss?

* * *

"Ems? It's half eleven. Ciggie?" Ah, yes, Nat. Bang on time as usual. Fag, mmm, sounds good, I live for these few minutes of respite with my filing buddy. She never asks about my life and I never ask about hers. I have no idea what we actually do talk about, but we manage just fine.

We perch on a bench outside the main foyer, the chill of the autumn wind tugging at my loose cardigan, so I pull it tight around me, securing it with one folded arm, the other poised with my wonderful smoking stick. Something's off and I fail to make any successful smoke rings this time. Nat finds my failure hilarious, and starts rambling on about false confidence and something about boots and getting too big. I'm not paying attention at this point, I'm far too busy trying to eavesdrop on the situation unfolding directly behind us, in the main foyer.

"_Well, fuck you. You're a horrible little man, consumed by selfishness and bigotry. The media should deliver unbiased fact. I can't imagine such a horrible little turd as you ever giving unbiased, fair opinion. Fuck off and die. And NEVER stare at my tits again."_

Interviews not going too well then. That poor girl is still swearing, sounded like she could hold her own though. Sounds a bit like someone actually... next thing, I hear her come and sit next to Nat on the bench. This was my cue to go back to work anyway, seeing as though my cigarette had burnt down, leaving a long, crumbling length of ash, with Nat tutting at my waste. I got up, shook some ash from my skirt and threw the butt down to the ground. I lifted my head, wanting to catch a glimpse of Nigel's feisty contender...

"Fuck..." she was already looking at me, the hints of a guilty smile playing on the edges of her mouth, that gorgeous mouth (NO!).

"Hi, Emily"... and then I lost my head all over again


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Okay guys, you'll have to bear with me here. We're not there just yet, so just sit tight! Oh, and I'd love it if you reviewed, it'll make me feel more like carrying on I think. I'm in the middle of my A-levels right now, so I'll try and squeeze in another update sometime after the 15th. Your criticism really is important to me! Thankyou.

**This Chapter**: Naomi's morning leading up to that inevitable meeting.

**Naomi's POV**

I'm braving the wardrobe again. It's fine, just avoid the basket.

I finally piece together an outfit that is slightly laughable in all honesty, I'm not even sure they're mine, possibly old friends of my mum's. I'm wearing a blouse. A blouse for fuck's sake. It has frills. I'm not sure that anything else need be said about this pathetic article. Fucking frills. I look like Mary cunting Poppins, and the look definitely worked better on her than it does on me.

Oh shit, I'm going to have to wear court shoes. _Now _I look stuck up, like a fucking poker muncher. I look terrible and I'm really nervous about this pissing job. It's not even like it's a big deal, just a reporting job for a fairly small newspaper on the outskirts of the city. I'm still repeating my new mantra to myself every few minutes – 'Just a step onto the ladder, everyone starts this way'. When a part of me really knew that this was the beginning of the end.

I've kind of made up for my wardrobe malfunction with my make-up and hair, that aspect of my get up is actually quite acceptable. So I figure, you know, should my obvious talent and ability fail me, my prospective boss (male, might I add) might notice my sparkly blue eyes and the bra, yes, the bra. Now, that could be the winner for me today. I hated this. Fucking intellectual prostitution if you ask me. But that's how things work when the boss is a misogynist prick (as he was surely going to be).

* * *

I woke up to an empty bed again this morning (peace!). Sim must have fallen asleep while he was watching whatever shit it is that keeps him down there every night. I'm not complaining, it's nice, like being by myself again. Gives me time to think, by myself. I've decided that I'm telling him soon. Naomi needs to be alone for a while. Shake things up a bit y'know. I've got a new roommate lined up already. Organised with military precision, cold hearted some might say. Yeah? Well fuck them. All I know is that Simon's a boring prick who used to be 'Sim, my roommate' until I got royally fucked one night, ending up in him getting royally fucked... by me. Bless him, he woke up the next morning all full of himself about 'us' and other sickening things. Didn't have the heart to tell him. It was convenient y'know. Simple. Like it had never been before. He was like a permanent fuck-buddy, there when I needed him, except, lately, he's there when I don't. Those aren't the rules of this game and he bloody knows it. Flat indeed. Flat? Jesus, he's more stupid than I initially gave him credit for being. I don't know though, there's always been that comforting sense of the familiar with Sim. When I first met him, I thought he reminded me of Cook and I guess, I've just been hanging onto that for all this time. Because, as long as my past wasn't too far away, I could still remember everything and revel in the memories of a time lost in hedonism and ridiculous declarations of love and red. (Fucking hell Naomi... really going for it this week aren't you).

Anyway, so that's the situation. Me and Sim. One mass of wasted time and energy.

* * *

I grab a cup of tea before I have to leave. I've got twenty minute before I have to leave anyway. So I sit there and drink Chamomile tea. I still don't know why. There's like this stubborn, habitual part of me that still refuses to die, so I just keep coming back for more. All I can hear in the kitchen is the white noise of Weird Beard's radio that is so obviously broken. Apparently, the sentimental value is just 'too precious to throw away'. Fuck, who says precious anyway. Especially when you've got a beard.

* * *

I fucking hate court shoes. Like leather punishment. Cows should take comfort in knowing that I too am pained by leather.

Despite my perpetual bad mood, I still notice the beautiful changes that symbolise the arrival coming of Autumn. It really is beautiful, even through my cynicism. The air still retains some of the summer warmth, so my cheeks begin to flush slightly. With this, I realise that my depression appears to be lifting along with my confidence levels. Because guess what. My portfolio is amazing.1st class honours I'll have you know. I, Naomi Campbell am a 1st class graduate. These people will be fucking lucky to have me. I suddenly realise that I'm grinning like a fool to no one in particular. (Not cool, Naomi)

_N. Jankin Media. _Yep, here I am. This is vocational destiny. (HAH please no)

I'm directed to a row of _very_ blue seats, all dotted with various, rather questionable stains. The carpet looks like ginger vomit and walls are papered in woodchip. Yes Naomi, you have stepped into a time warp. Welcome to the seventies. The nineties would bow down in respect to this monstrosity. Ugh.

They left me waiting for fucking ages. This makes me get fidgety and cross. They set the time, not me. They said 10am and even had the nerve to write _sharp. 10am sharp._ Stuck up pillocks.

After a few more minutes of angry waiting, a rather short woman in a pencil skirt came to fetch me. Her face was friendly and her demeanour equally welcoming. She double checked my name, complimented my shoes (okay, so I'm beginning to dislike her) and then lead me through the rabbit warren of also _very_ blue cubicles, each housing a bored looking office dweller, with the higher ranking workers having extra square-footage in their cubicles (wow Naomi, in for a treat here aren't you).

In assessing the office hierarchy_, _I noted that paper pushers were located closer to the main entrance, in their matchbox-like boxes, then researchers with their slightly larger cubes, then reporters (there it is again: Destiny calling out to me) with their smug, noticeably larger cubicles. Towards the back of the building were the sub-editors etc. And then, at the top of the heap: My prospective boss. I was slightly comforted by the idea if being near the middle of the pyramid, not too close to the gutter, but far enough away from serious responsibility.

The short, pencil skirted woman was muttering about her much needed fag break, something about it being at half eleven. I allowed myself a little giggle at this, "You make this place sound so scintillating to work in". In response to this, I get a raised brow, silently telling me _Oh, yes. Things really are that grim around here. I won't insult your intelligence by lying to you._

I like her already.

The man whom I can only guess to be Mr Jankin is stood under the door frame to his office, arm stretched possessively up to the top left corner of the frame, with his right leg, crossed behind his left, his weight leaning on the door frame.

"Ah, Naomi Campbell is it? Golly, we have a namesake in our midst ladies and gents", not sure who this was directed at, I offered a small, false laugh for good measure. Rule no.1: if unsure, laugh at new boss' jokes.

He flicked through my portfolio, clearly entirely disinterested. The interview continued on the same kind of tone throughout. He asked inane questions, to which he was given formulaic answers. I was feeling uninspired by his blatant chauvinism. Then he delivered the statement to end all statements.

Looking through my pieces on women's rights, he nonchalantly decreed, "Ah, yes, young woman fresh from University, still besotted with the idea of equality. Of course, given time, you'll come to know the truth my dear. We'll make sure of that."

Yep, jaw – open – like – fish. Is he... Is he staring at my tits while telling me that women's rights don't exist? Oh my God. He is. He fucking is.

And then, I lost my grip. I went hurtling down into the abyss of my anger and let it fly out of the cracks in my friendly facade. Poor bugger never stood a chance really.

The next ten minutes were a blur to me. I remember there being lots of shouting, swearing and one instance of throwing. The only other thing I clearly recall is the look of impressed awe on his face when I told him to "Go fuck himself with something large and sand-papery". (Quite creative and certainly worthy of admiration in my opinion)

I stormed out of the building, passing the vile blue decor, shouting insults about "cunting woodchip" as 'Nasty Nigel' (as I had so christened him) followed me keenly towards the exit.

When I reach the main foyer, I turn to him, expecting an apology or something.

"Well?" I demand, mentally tapping my toe.

"I was just pointing out the flaws of your naivety Miss Campbell."

"Oh yeah?_ Well, fuck you. You're a horrible little man, consumed by selfishness and bigotry. The media should deliver unbiased fact. I can't imagine such a horrible little turd as you ever giving unbiased, fair opinion. Fuck off and die. And NEVER stare at my tits again."_

I turned and stormed through the glass doors, pulling a angry finger at the horrible little man who had successfully ruined my morning. He called after me, "We will be calling Miss Campbell. We need feisty ones like you." He then fled, not wanting to fall victim to my awful temper once more, I suspect.

I look around and notice the short woman from before sat on a bench with a couple of other people. I walk over, perch myself next to her on the bench as she unconsciously hands me one of her Silk Cuts. (This woman is wonderful. It's official.) She offers me a simple smile and a seemingly broken lighter then returns to her front facing position, savouring her next drag.

I catch a glimpse of something familiar in my peripheral vision. Something that was... fuck me it's red. Fuck fuck fuck. She's stood up, batting something off her skirt. I look her up and down as slowly as my brain will permit. I'm unravelling just looking at her. She stops, straightens herself up and then I know what's next. In those agonising milliseconds, I braced myself for the inevitable. I couldn't look away. My car crash was going to look at me any second, and it hurt me. It physically hurt. The pain of the missing four years came flooding back to me as her beautiful brown pools lifted to meet my own, expectant blue ones.

Flicker. I saw it. Fuck. Emily Fitch is stood in front of me, looking into me.

I hear her whisper a nervous "Fuck" and I smile. She makes me bloom. Nothing blooms in Autumn.

I venture a few words, something witty perhaps. But all my thoughts are consumed as an overwhelming urge to say a simple hello overpowers them, so I opt for the traditional (unlike me, I know).

"Hi, Emily".

* * *

**So... opinions?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Hi! So I haven't updated in a little while. But my English exam has been now, so I'm hoping to squeeze in a couple of updates before I leave on the 28th. I'll be gone two weeks. So, this chapter, I kind of wanted things to start moving, just not too quickly, so we have a little bit of development here and some character interaction. However, this is mostly Emily's silent monologue. So, I hope you like it. The song connected with this chapter was 'Wonder' by Dan Black. I'm actually not sure why, it just reminds me of new beginnings and lost opportunities which is kind of what this chapter is about I guess. So enjoy! And please review! I got one for the last chapter and even that made my day!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Skins, I just live my life vicariously through it.**

**Emily's POV**

I don't know what to do. I've been stood here since I caught sight of her, just standing.

I stared at first. Partly in shock and anger and partly because I was so stunned by how beautiful she was... is. My brown seemed to just clash uncomfortably with her piercing blue that was searching me for a reaction. I couldn't give her one. I'd racked my brains in search of the appropriate form of recognition. There was no way I could express myself justly with my actions. So, I stood there like a fucking vegetable, staring, being sucked into the wonderfully dangerous vortex of her eyes. I was already in too deep after only, well... I'm not too sure how long it had been.

I finally tore myself away and looked down at my shoes. There was a single singed stub lay on the ground. Right, it's been a whole Silk Cut. Nat had been sat between us as we continued our awkward combat. I think I was first to move and it stayed that way for a while. I could feel the heat of Naomi's deep blue gaze penetrate the top of my head as I carried on staring at my feet.

Naomi was first to speak again. I had yet to verbally acknowledge her.

"So, how've you been?"

This gave me the opportunity to return my gaze to hers. I still had no idea how to respond to her, so I just carried on looking. After a few seconds she nodded, as though understanding the difficulty I was having and in a wonderfully thoughtful act of kindness, she lowered her gaze. My thoughts started coming back to me once more in a rush of panic and urgency.

"I'm good. Yes, I'm fine. All good. Okay. On my break y'know. Been filing. Lots of files. Work here. Uh... Behind us. Should go I guess. Erm." Except, I didn't want to leave. Something was compelling me to stay and ask the blonde inane questions as though we'd never met. So I opened my mouth again and asked the fatal: "You?" and then I was lost again. It had always been about her. Things were clearly not about to change.

She was kind and kept her head bowed, only lifting it sometimes, her eyes searching and tired looking. She wasn't nervous like I was. I was practically shaking and clutching an unsmoked silk cut that Nat had perched precariously between my index and middle finger as she got up to leave a while ago.

Naomi seemed a picture of calm and serenity, her peroxide blonde locks curling around her angular features. I scanned every detail and noticed how little had changed. Her hair was a similar shoulder length to the way it had been then and her figure the same slender object of desire. She was wearing court shoes though. The fuck? Naomi, in court shoes? That's just wrong, perverted almost. This was when I noticed that she hadn't answered my question, she was still staring at the perverse choice of footwear, scowling, as I trusted she would be. So, I spoke again.

"Court Shoes, huh? Nice. I mean, they're... pretty. Very smart. Elegant. But, not at all Naomi."

She flinched. Oh, fuck. I could sense the approaching onslaught of a patronising probably attacking lecture on _'how would I know about Naomi and who she was these days?'_ So I was surprised when all she did was turn her head in her palm to look directly at my now compensatory lowered head. Our eyes caught once more as my breath visibly hitched. She spoke with her eyes, glinting a look that said _these aren't what I would have chosen and you're right, not at all Naomi._

Then she sat up, never losing eye contact with me and simply stated. "Nothing is these days."

Her matter of fact conclusion saddened me and hurt me all at once. But I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction from knowing that she wasn't the same without me. I had sat down by then. We were physically on the same level. But, I got the impression that we were on totally different mental plateaus. She seemed distant and non-committal, while I was, well, I guess I was still me, just a little more hardened to the influences of the outer world. Not naive little Emily who followed unwilling lesbians around like a dog. I was my own person now. sure of things. However, Naomi had succeeded in lowering my barriers and drawing me in once more. I had always been worried about what might happen if I saw her again. But, never had I considered that she would be like this. The Love-victim part of me would always expect her to break down an beckon me into her arms, promising me that she would love me forever and never hurt me again. That she would tell me how empty her life had become without me and then she would hold me for an age, kissing away my tears of uncertainty until I succumbed to her wonderful charm in the safety of my knowledge that she meant every word. But, Emily Fitch, you are not seventeen and this is indeed the real world, so concentrate on the pretty blonde and live your actual life for once.

I lit up my cigarette and asked in monotone, "How come?" and I politely opened the floodgates.

Naomi was still revving up, steeling herself by rubbing her knuckles with her thumb when my phone vibrated in my cardigan pocket. Nat: _Told the bastard you'd gone home sick. You can sort things out, catch up. See you 8.30 tomorrow.x._

I looked back to Naomi, she was looking away now at the dappled leaves on the trees. I waited patiently, until she darted her eyes to mine again. She was unsure, but she ventured anyway.

"Can we go somewhere?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

My mind rushed ahead of me in a flurry of memories and pain, recalling the time she had first uttered those words. I saw green and spokes and water and remembered the first time I had gotten through to the stubborn natured blonde when she was only sixteen. We shared our first and most tender moments together as we explored what it meant to be free. It was then that I realised that she wanted to share something with me. This was Naomi wanting to talk, four years too late, but we'd got here at last. This wasn't about reconciliation and heated make up sex by an algae infested lake. This was about the catch up that Nat had talked about in the message. I knew that she had used these words consciously, these words meant, _I need you Emily_. But not in the way they once had, not in the way that meant _I need you against me, I need your breath heavy in my ears, I need you to need me more than I can ever need you_; but in a way that showed me how much she needed someone to talk to. As a friend.

So, I took the brave step into the unknown territory and decided to be friends with Naomi. I looked at her, deep in her eyes and gave her a nod that spoke volumes. I told her that we could go somewhere, we could go anywhere, I'd follow her anywhere, but today I'd lead the way and take her somewhere she could feel safe and secure. Somewhere that wasn't tainted by mutual memories or provocative of pain in any form.

With that, I stood up, instinctively batted my skirt for stray tobacco and began walking away from Naomi. I looked behind, coaxing her to come with me using my eyes, they'd always worked a charm on Naomi. So, she followed, and we went.

She walked a pace behind me, the significance of this wasn't lost on either of us. She wasn't sure, so she stayed back. I always assumed that after finding out about Sophia, it would be her who was desperate to get to know me again. But, after today, I was beginning to suspect that the situation might be reversed. She was the wary one.

We walked for about ten minutes, then I dragged her onto the tube at Notting Hill, we sat together, close. I could feel how nervous she was, her hand was placed cautiously on the material of the seat next to her outer thigh, with my own less than inch away from it, mirroring the position of hers.

I just kept looking at her, I couldn't help it. Drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I was coming undone at the sight of this magnificent creature. I couldn't help letting my mind wander to the inevitable few hours we were about to spend opening our hearts to each other about the pain of the last four years. The, I remembered that I was going to be friends with Naomi. That meant no romantic fantasising.

She stared directly ahead, out towards the darkened outside of the carriage as we swayed our way to our destination. Her eyes were darting over the reflection in the glass windows that rattled with the movement of the train. Two young girls were sat opposite to us, probably about five years old, one wore stripy leggings while the other wore a floral skirt. They were chatting effortlessly and it made me wonder when everything had gotten so damn hard. My eyes sidled back up to the reflection in the window, where I was caught in the whirlwind gaze of a blue-eyed blonde. The one sat next to me. She held my eyes firmly in her gaze, waiting for me to wilt. When I didn't, she forced a small smile. A smile that said_ thank you, I know that you're in this with me for real now._ I wondered when Naomi had become so insecure, all the while kicking seventeen year old me back to my place (NO Emily, it isn't because you weren't around).

The tinny voice called over the speaker that our stop was next, so as we came hurtling out of the darkness into the welcoming pool of light that was the tube platform, I touched her hand to let her know. Instantly, I felt electricity pump through my veins as a pain as sharp as a knife seared the point of contact on my skin. I'm sure she felt it too, for she bolted her eyes to mine in shock and something quite like fear which frightened me a little. This role reversal was deeper set than I thought. Naomi is me, four years ago.

We walked out of the tube station together. Side by side this time. Slowly, I was coaxing her back.

We arrived in Regent's Park, where I quickened my pace, taking charge o the situation and choosing a place to sit near the boating lake. Surely a little familiarity wouldn't do too much harm.

A few seconds later, I heard a dull thud as she landed on the grass about a metre away from me.

"It's a lovely place. A bit generic, but nice all the same."

"There you are! Fucking hell Naomi, I was getting really worried for a bit there!"

She let out a small, sheepish giggle at this. It was true, the Naomi I once knew and... loved. Well, she was so full of life. And opinions. This remark had reassured me and also made me feel more comfortable.

Then, we sat in silence for a while longer. I was pulling nervously at the grass next to me then discarding it, making a neat pile of grass cuttings in between the both of us. She started to edge closer to me, closing the gap, then sitting, cross legged, facing me, her eyes wide and expectant ( and beautifully oceanic... No Emily. Naomi. Your friend). She put a cold hand over my grass pulling one, lifting it from its present occupation and placed it back in my lap. She motioned for me to turn to her and sit as she was. I obliged and positioned myself a few inches away from her, returning her expectant gaze. She remained that way for a while, just looking at me. Her look undecipherable, a mixture of anxiety and fondness (I think). And then it hit me. This was Naomi letting me in. Her hands were placed in her lap, as were mine, she was looking at me, face on, but not confrontationally. This was welcoming, I was being shown this creature in all her magnificence and it was wonderful. She let out a long sigh, never losing eye contact and I knew that this was my time to listen.

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Please Review! Is this going the way you thought? Or is there something you don't like?


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hi Guys *smiles guiltily*. Soo long time no speak... sorry! Life got busy. I'm hoping to update again within the next week... but, you know.. things happen. So this chapter, I found really hard to write, I wasn't sure which approach to take, so I hope you like what I've done and that you can spot some of my metaphors :D Naomi's such a cool character and I hope I've served her well. I get lots of hits on this story, but I've only had 8 reviews, it would be so good if you could drop me a few thoughts after reading this! I might even update quicker... ;) Reviews really do help with being bothered to write though.**

**Anywhoo, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Skins, but I sure do miss it!**

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**Naomi**

'I had this dream last night. It was weird. Like nothing I've ever dreamt before. It just made me realise how a whole lot of nothing can result in a huge amount of something. Sorry. This can't possibly make any sense to you. I just... I just think that this dream, that it meant something and then seeing you... seeing you today kind of confirms that. In this dream, I was walking, minding my own business y'know and everything was just fine and dandy until I stepped off the kerb. After I did that, things started happening, things that made me, I don't know, stronger I guess. And at the end of the dream I just kind of wiped my hands and tidied myself up before walking round this corner. That was when I woke up. Well, actually, I was forced up by the bastard clock. But, man, I know I must sound like a total fucking cliché right now... I don't know, I guess it just all seems so relevant.'

I was picking the petals off a daisy at this point, focusing my attention entirely on the puny white flower that I held close to my face and studied carefully in my concentration as I recalled the mindfuck that was my dream last night. I tore the last petal from the poor flower before dropping the now limp stem on the grass near my feet, then I looked up at Emily, who, God bless her looked as though she had listened intently to my every word. I wouldn't have. I must have sounded like such a psychopath just now. I smiled at her appreciatively.

She returned the favour, but I got the feeling that what I'd given her wasn't at all what she'd expected. She looked a little confused by my revelation. I mean, come on, really, who wouldn't? Poor girl. 'I don't know Emily, maybe I'm just being over sentimental in my old age,' I added, allowing her the chance to escape from the prospect of responding to my mad confession. But she didn't. She grabbed my hand firmly, shaking me from the reverie I was experiencing in the hazel warmth of her eyes ;

'No Naomi, you're not. I think you might be right. Maybe there is something to this dream you've had. I hope so, that's one awesome ending your subconscious conjured up there isn't it! Man... wish mine was that creative... or just remotely interesting at all really. That'd be nice. I actually think I dreamt about toasters last night. Christ on a bike, I should start reading more or something!'

I giggled again, slightly less sheepishly than before. Emily was working her magic on me. I was grateful to her for not totally brushing my sentimental outburst aside, but also for promptly changing the subject once she'd addressed the issue.

'Anyway, Miss Campbell. You never answered my question before.'

'I didn't?'

'No, I never expected 'You?' to cause cerebral impairment in someone, but I think I may have managed it back there.'

'Oh... yeah, sorry about that. I was just, just so shocked to see you, I mean, it's been...'

'Four years. It's been four years Naomi'. She said this in a way that unnerved me again, she wasn't angry, she just looked plain upset. Again. Why is she even letting me anywhere near her? She clearly remembers everything and hasn't developed selective memory as I so hoped she might have done. Oh come on Naomi; 'still remembers'? of course she fucking does you halfwit.

'So... answer it then?'

'Oh. Yes. I'm fine, everything's great. Yep. All good here.' She looked at me cocking and eyebrow like I taught her to that summer... (NO NAOMI. NO) 'Okay. So it's not great, or good... it's not really fine either I guess. To be honest Emily, it's all rather shit.' She sniggered in appreciative agreement. Right, so your life is shit too. That didn't make me feel any better though. In fact, I think it made me feel worse.

'See, Sim is just being a total prick, I don't even know what he's still hanging around for, even my ugly beardy neighbour can tell that I've had enough of him. He just keeps wanking off about 'aww babe we should like totally buy this horrible little white flat together in Covent Garden, it'd be totally mint Buns, and then we could like totally forget how to speak proper and eat super noodles everyday innit Buns'. So yeah, I guess things are pretty shit right now. I just want him to pretty much fuck off Ems. It wasn't meant to turn into this. We were fucking occasionally and then he got these ideas. They had to be the wrong ones too didn't they! Fuck...' I sighed and looked back towards Emily again, who, not surprisingly had begun busying herself with her grass again during my Simon themed rant.

She looked up after a second, smacked her lips and then let out a long sigh.

'Yep. That's tricky for sure Naomi. I just... Simon? So you're not... well evidently, you know. Wow. I had you down as a bonafide muff muncher all along too. Guess I was wrong.'

She'd stopped looking at me by this point and had chosen staring at the lake to her left for some sort of sanctuary I guess. I hadn't even thought about her not knowing about my frequent team swapping that had, in the past few years become more steady. More straight.

'I think I chose it more out of convenience than anything.'

AAH fuck fuck fuckety fuck fuck. I said that out loud. It's okay, she didn't suddenly flinch and turn all lesbian tigress at my doubt laden confession. She simply nodded absently, taking two long, slow blinks as she digested that piece of information.

'Yeah, I get that I guess. But I couldn't do it to myself. All that _lying_. It would eat me up.' What she meant was, _I guess you'd be used to that._ But we'd silently agreed on civility, so she didn't. I would have done. I'd have slapped my bitch self down for my past trespasses there and then. But, this is Emily. Kind, forgiving Emily who was sat with her ex-girlfriend while she ranted on about her 'bad' boyfriend when she didn't really have the right.

I still had no response to her last statement after thirty seconds and decided that my chance had probably come and gone anyway by now. So, I did what Naomis do best and changed the subject, hereby averting any more awkward conversations. Or, so I thought.

'So, hows about you then, Fitch. What have you been doing with yourself? Other than that filing you were on about this morning?' I added with a smirk. I expected her to return the smile, but she didn't. Instead, she grew introverted and visibly shrunk back into her shoulders like a little tortoise.

'Ah, you know. Stuff.'

'Yeah? Well come on then, what kind of stuff. You got a captive audience here Emily.'

'Well this morning was the first morning I haven't woken up with a strange woman in my bed for nearly a fortnight. And by strange, I mean both unknown and sometimes a little weird. I can only afford to eat one meal a day and the highlight of everyday is usually my precisely timed cigarette breaks with Nat. But you know, other than that, it's all just... peachy.'

She said that last word with a prevailing bitterness in her voice that saddened me. I thought she was doing okay from what I'd gathered up to now, but then I noticed the more angular shape of her jawbone and her spindly arms that peeked out of her cardigan sleeve with her lovely long fingers... (ARGH FUCKING HELL GIRL... get a grip). What sat before me was a changed woman, someone who vaguely resembled a teenage memory. And it made me feel about this big..

'Right. Come on then. Let's get us some Pinot Grigio, unless you're in more of a Cider Oblivion mood?'

'Where though?'

'We'll go back to mine. It's my turn to lead now. I'm feeling all better. Thank you Emily, you know, for listening... Okay, cool, so, let's go.'

With that, Emily beamed at me and started getting up from the grass, knocking over her perfectly constructed grass wall in the process, sending remnants of it onto the flattened patches where we had both been sat. And then we made to leave. Side by side.

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**Okay people, you know what to do!**


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